


I Saw You Out of the Corner Of My Eye

by DustToDust



Series: Through the Lens [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Privacy means nothing to SHIELD, and someone is always watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw You Out of the Corner Of My Eye

Privacy is not one of the many things that SHIELD recruits sign away with what's rest of their lives. Not because they believe it is some unalienable right, but because according to SHIELD, privacy is something that doesn't exist. The thorough vetting and surveillance of recruits is a policy of paranoia that only got a boost when an analyst was able to spot a bait and switch with a pair of identical twins solely off of the fact that she knew what side the original recruit preferred to dress on.

It's one of the first tests, weeding out capable agents from the flock. Seeing who could handle the stress of the constant watch, who can function knowing that every twitch and blink is being watched and analyzed. Those who do well are noted for possible infiltration work, those who break are shown the door, and those that do neither are given more training and an opportunity to get used to it.

Phil has been at SHIELD long enough for the constant surveillance to barely even register anymore. There's very little that Phil has left to hide at this point in his life, and most of it can be concealed behind a bland face and tiny smile. What goes on behind that effective mask can't be picked up by the cameras no matter how high the resolution and Phil likes it just fine that way.

That's one of the ways that recruits are taught to deal with the surveillance, and is often the most used coping method. It's not the only one though.

Barton, Clint F. is a perfect case study of the second method of coping with SHIELD's constant watching. The recruit is out of training and on his first month of probationary Agent status, and he's already managed to gain quite a following among the analyst branch --only mostly female-- for his, for lack of a better term, _performances_.

Honestly, Phil can't blame them. Barton is a fine example of what hard work and a perfectionist attitude can accomplish with the human body, and the man _revels_ in showing it off regardless of if he's alone or not. In fact, his actions are usually even showier when he's physically alone.

It's been a week since Phil was handed the man's file for consideration for field release, and he can honestly say he hasn't ever been more entertained by a prospective agent. Barton has a way of turning even the mundane act of drinking coffee into a show of dexterity and marksmanship that doesn't get old despite the fact that Phil's seen it happen several times a day already.

Phil very carefully doesn't focus on the screen as he speeds through the long stretches of time Barton spends in the shower or wandering his room --naked, of course-- and absently makes a note of how many times those parts of the video archive have been accessed. He keeps a running list in his head of the IDs that've been used to _download_ those portions of the archive, and starts drafting the memo he's considering sending to Fury about the abuse of the cameras when the footage jumps to static.

Skipping back, Phil watches as Barton slips into his room, wet from the communal shower and still clad in one of the rough as hell towels SHIELD keeps buying only because of how well they can double as a bandage. There's only one camera in the room at a high enough angle to catch most anything, but Phil frowns as Barton turns his back and reaches for something that somehow manages to be just out of its view.

The footage is two days old and Barton hasn't been reported as AWOL or otherwise, which is the only thing keeping Phil in his seat as the video dissolves into static. The readout on the screen indicates a loss of reception which shouldn't be possible in a SHIELD facility. Phil notes the time and lets the video play out at normal speed. Five minutes and thirteen seconds pass before the signal is found again, and the static resolves into the familiar quarters.

Barton is standing in the center of the room, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares straight up at the camera. A first, for all that Barton showed off for his audience, he's never actually acknowledged there was one before. Phil hovers the mouse over the controls, deeply suspicious of that grin and knowing, subconsciously, that it didn't bode anything good. The little skipping would've been noticed by the analysts and already have been investigated. A report would have been written and attached to the files Phil had unrestricted access to. He doesn't need to keep watching to find out what Barton did.

He moves his hand away from the mouse and waits to see what Barton is up to.

Barton lounges across his bunk artfully. Limbs sprawling out as he stretches, muscles rippling and tensing in what is unmistakenly a brazen display that's echoed by the sultry look he keeps fixed on the camera. Broad hands come down, dragging across his broad chest. Thick fingers catching in the knot holding the towel closed and slipping under the grey cloth parting it just enough for the camera to get a good picture of his hard cock. Barton pauses, grin turning sly and his mouth opening. There's too much tongue and teeth for Phil to read what the man says, and the cameras --for all their perfect resolution-- don't come with microphones.

A part of Phil is noting this fact and is wondering if Barton knows it already or if he's just overestimating the surveillance on him. It's the part of him that jots down a reminder to get Barton more training on technical espionage in the margins of the paper in front of him. Keeping his face perfectly still with just a touch of boredom and resignation to not be remarkable as Phil reels inside.

The difference between this and Barton's usual show is unbelievable. Barton masturbating and strutting around in his skin is a sight to see, but one that Phil can easily ignore because Barton --for all that he shows off-- isn't doing it for anybody but himself. This though, this is a completely different show. One that demands the audience look and respond.

Barton's showing off for _someone_ specific here and Phil's caught in the crossfire.

The towel slides away as Barton rolls his hips up. Cock flushed and dripping already as he teases himself with the fingers of one hand. Running what Phil thinks must be thickly calloused pads up and down the large vein. Thumb swiping over the head to smear the liquid gathering there down until there's just enough slickness to make it easy. Barton's hand curls obscenely around the head of his cock but doesn't move. He pumps up into his own hand with an easy roll of his hips that works all the muscles in his body. His other hand reaching down to cradle and massage his balls. Eyes heavy lidded but still staring the camera down as pure pleasure ripples across his face.

Phil wants to shift in his seat, ease the pressure on his trapped cock as it takes a decidedly unhealthy interest in the show. Maybe take a drink from his long cold mug to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. He really wants to just stop the video feed right now and shove his own hand into his pants. Three cameras and the knowledge that _any_ reaction would be noted and written into a report kept Phil still as Barton brought his feet up flat on the bed to give himself more leverage.

Barton's mouth is open and moving on what looks to be a litany of curses and words too drawn out for Phil to read well. He splays his legs wide. Wider than any man should be able to, not losing one bit of leverage and giving the camera a better view as he strokes down into his next thrust. Fingers tightening on his cock and twisting slightly at the top of each stroke. The fingers rolling his balls wander down even further, the pad of one finger stroking the sensitive skin between them and his hole briefly. Barton's next thrust stutters and Phil nearly stops breathing as Barton's index finger presses against his hole.

A shudder rolls up Barton's body as he speeds up his hand, fluid leaking out to puddle on his stomach. His thrust become erratic and his eyes close in bliss. The finger near his hole curls up into a fist and Phil has all of a millisecond to see it's hooked into a string before Barton moves, pulling away.

 _Anal beads, nice_. The logical part of Phil's brain notes as Barton comes hard. Thick stripes of come shooting out onto his stomach as the beads slide out of him. Each one smaller than the last, stretching his ass out and jerking another small spurt of come out of his cock. His body tense and vibrating with the ecstasy of it until he's wrung dry. Beads falling to the floor with an unheard clatter as Barton relaxes one the bed, boneless and utterly content for several beautiful seconds.

Barton stirs eventually, one hand dragging through the mess on his stomach as his eyes open to fix back onto the camera. He sucks one come soaked finger clean and gives the camera a flirty wink, and that's it.

The show is over.

Phil watches as Barton cleans up his mess. Moving around completely unselfconscious of his nudity or of what he's done, but Phil knows that this is not meant for Barton's audience. This just is, and Phil finds that he can --finally!-- close the video.

The next days feed is waiting and Phil doesn't hesitate to open it. His skin feels hot and too tight as he skips through hours of Barton sleeping, but Phil doesn't do anything but note the time the man gets up. He breathes slowly but deeply and focuses on the outline of the man on the screen until he's dressed. He allows himself a small sip of tepid coffee and grimaces slightly as he swallows. Phil doesn't look at the cameras he knows are watching him. He doesn't loosen the restrictive tie around his neck, or slouch to relieve the pressure on his aching cock.

He's got a good bit of time to waste before he can stand up without his problem being readily apparent, and several more hours after that before he can take the show he's just seen and use it like it should be used without the two incidents being linked in an unfortunate way that'd end up in a report on Fury's desk by the end of the day.

Phil breathes and adds notes to the file in front of him without giving anything away. Tucking one brand new secret away deep in his mind where SHIELD can't find it.


End file.
